


The rainwater drips through the cracks in the ceiling

by poisonousforyoureyes



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, angst fest, depressing piece of work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 21:52:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonousforyoureyes/pseuds/poisonousforyoureyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peeta has his hands on Katniss's neck, but no one is around to tear them off.</p><p>Written for Prompts in Panem AU Week, Day 7 - What If?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The rainwater drips through the cracks in the ceiling

**Author's Note:**

> "The rain water drips  
> Through the cracks in the ceiling  
> And I'll have to spend  
> My time on repair  
> And just like the rain  
> I'll be always fallin', yeah  
> Only to rise and fall again"
> 
>  _If you were here_ , Cary Brothers
> 
> Please be aware that English is not my native language.

Haymitch did not want anyone in the room where Peeta and Katniss would see each other for the first time since the Quell ended. He would later wonder restlessly why leaving them alone had mattered so much. It just had seemed the logical thing to do, so logical that he had not for a second considered the possibility that Peeta might have suffered more than physcially in the hands of the Capitol scientists. Why had he not figured that, with their sophisticated devices and advanced technology, they could have altered Peeta’s very mind, was beyond him. He had assumed the boy’s personality had stayed the same. It had to have been.

And maybe at that time it had seemed the least he could do for the two young adults he had grown to care for. They had stood in front of him, once, it seemed like a hundred years ago, and they would not be ignored. They would not let him be a mere witness of their deaths. With the same stubbornness, they had snuck their way into his life. Letting them reunite without anyone watching them was giving them privacy, something they were in dire need of. Haymitch was not one to beg for forgiveness, no more than he was unwilling to admit it whenever he screwed up. He had screwed up big time. He didn’t believe this was some kind of noble, magnanimous gesture that would make everything right again (but had things ever been right?). It was merely a peace offering. The girl would be able to react to seeing Peeta again the way she wanted. Heck, she could even burst into tears and kiss the boy breathless without some shallow Capitol citizen swooning over it (though knowing her, that kind of reaction was highly unlikely). In short, the point was that they could be themselves, for once.

His decision had been frowned upon by the soldiers from Thirteen. Boggs especially had raised his eyebrows without actually saying anything, which was possibly the most irritating way for someone to express their doubts about another’s decision. Haymitch did not care. That stern practicality was typical Thirteen fashion. They hardly ever bothered with gestures and peace offerings and making amends if such things were to come against their beloved rules. Unexpectedly, Coin had backed him up, giving her consent and efficiently shutting up her devoted minions.

But then again, he ought to have remembered Coin had never been Katniss’s biggest fan.

Nevertheless, no matter who said what or who agreed with whom, the situation remained the same: Katniss Everdeen was alone when she entered Peeta Mellark's hospital room. Haymitch watched her as she stood at the doorway, her cheeks flushed with anticipation, a tentative smile on her lips, a sincere relief in her eyes, before she went into the room, disappearing from his view. 

She never came out.

______________________________________________________________

Ten minutes later, they were all staring at the now empty doorway. Absolutely nothing could be heard from the inside. One of the soldiers made an offhand joke about how wise a decision indeed it had been to let the two be alone, but Haymitch was having none of it. Something was wrong. The same thought must have occurred to Boggs, for the two of them rushed inside at the same time.

Something was indeed very wrong.

Peeta was huddled up in one corner, as far away from Katniss as he could manage, his hands covering his ears, muttering to himself. The girl was lying on her back under the harsh light of the room. Her rigid arms were outstretched in an unnatural position, as if she had been reaching for someone. Her grey eyes were much paler than usual. They looked almost white as she stared, unblinking, at something she could not see anymore.

On her neck were reddened prints of hands. 

Boggs slowly crossed the room and kneeled next to her. He gently pressed his fingers on her neck. Then, he turned to Haymitch and shook his head. 

The room was so quiet they could hear water drops falling on the floor with a smooth regularity. There was probably a leaky pipe somewhere in the walls. Peeta was now staring at the dark humidity stain on the ceiling, whispering endlessly about clocks. Plik plok. Tick Tock. Sparkles and feathers and claws and deep in the meadow a mockingjay falls silent while a hunter sings about a girl whose braid is on fire. 

The boy had absolutely no idea of what had just happened. Of what he’d just did.

Haymitch almost wished he didn’t either.

______________________________________________________________

A few days later, after having kept a close watch on Peeta, now locked up in his room, the scientists from Thirteen were finally able to come up with an explanation. They seemed rather proud of themselves as they uttered words like “hijacking” and “brainwash” and “homicidal maniacal tendencies” and, above all, “episodes”, which they kept repeating as if it were some kind of magic words. Words that sounded clever, but were actually completely devoid of meaning.

To Mrs. Everdeen, it only meant she had failed to protect her daughter. Again.

To Prim, it only meant her sister could not possibly come back. This time.

To Gale, it only meant he would forever be the man at the Hanging Tree. Only waiting for his almost love that had failed to flee was far worse than merely waiting for an answer.

To Haymitch, it only meant he should have known better.

To Finnick, it only meant they were lying when they said there were twenty-three deaths in the Games. There were twenty-four. One of them just happened to be longer and more painful than the others.

To Coin, it only meant she could dispose of the Mockingjay the way she wanted, for it would never be able to flap its wings again. 

To Peeta, nothing really meant anything.

______________________________________________________________

It seemed at first that the Rebellion would never recover from such an atrocity.

But you could always count on Plutarch Heavensbee to turn things around.

It only took a week before they were able to broadcast nationwide – including in the Capitol – a series of propos entitled “True love never burns out” in which Plutarch and Fluvia had used old footages from Katniss and Peeta’s first Games and the Quell. They showed the beloved “star crossed lovers” kissing and fighting side-by-side and kissing and holding hands and kissing and making speeches and kissing… In the background, an overwhelmed voice commented on how those two were doomed from the start and how unfair it was and could we really let the Capitol get away with it? The greatest, purest (well, not so much, as Katniss’s fake pregnancy led to think, but the Districts would get the idea) love had been altered, soiled, destroyed by the Capitol. Did we really want to sit around while the star crossed lovers had been torn apart forever? Did we really want to let Katniss Everdeen, the Girl who used to be on Fire, our Mockingjay, die out? Did we really want to let her death go unpunished?

A tragic love story. Every single inhabitant of Panem, everyone in the Districts could relate with that.

There was also the interesting fact that no one really knew the real circumstances of Katniss’s death. The few people in the know had sworn the knowledge of her dying from Peeta Mellark’s hands - literally - to secrecy. Officially, she had died from repercussions of her fight in Eight – some concussion no one had seen coming. She had collapsed into Peeta’s arms right after they’d reunited in his hospital room. He had been unable to save her and had found himself unable to appear in public ever since. 

“That way no one will notice the state the boy’s in. Even for someone who has suffered from a terrible loss, he’s not quite right anymore,” said Fluvia, gesturing towards her head in a way that showed clearly what she meant by “not quite right”.

The first day the propos were broadcasted, Haymitch came across two shallow refugees from Four swooning over an image of Katniss kissing Peeta into eating the soup he had sent them in their little cave of safety.

He tried very hard not to think about the irony of it.

It turned out a dead Katniss was the best weapon the Rebellion could have ever dreamed of. She was an icon. A martyr. See what they have done to her? You can and will not let it go unpunished. You want to be as brave as she was the day she stepped on to save her little sister. No to mention all she has achieved since. Now she’s dead. But you’re not.

Her funeral was filmed and recorded for posterity. It happened overground in Thirteen, and there were flowers and big speeches and tears. Coin publicly spoke of the great admiration she’d held for the girl and how she was a role model for everyone in the war. 

“If you ever find yourself unsure of what to do next, just try to think of what would Katniss have done, and I’m convinced your path will enlighten by itself.”

Gale wished Katniss were able to hear this so badly it hurt. Though it was no real change from what he had felt since the day she died. The objectives avoided him in spite of his “camera-ready face”, for this handsome man with the burning eyes and obvious pain did not really seem like a “cousin” at that moment. 

“It’s unfortunate we weren’t able to bring Peeta,” Plutarch would say later. “It would have made great footage. But I suppose it’s best if no one sees him right now.”

Later that night, after everything was over, a small group of people gathered in the launching room of Thirteen and quietly stepped onto one of the hovercrafts. It flew to a deep, green forest near a destroyed, ashes-covered district. They all stood between the trees: Mrs. Everdeen, Prim, Haymitch, Gale and his family, Katniss’s prep team, Finnick, Annie, Johanna, Beetee and Boggs. Nobody said anything because nothing really needed to be said. Katniss would have liked this wordless tribute, in one of the places she had loved the most. Gale shot an arrow in the trunk of a cypress. It had been her favorite hunting spot.

“It’s a shame we weren’t able to bring Peeta,” whispered Prim as they left. “He too would have wanted to say goodbye.”

______________________________________________________________

Peeta was unreachable. And kept under close watch, which was why they would not have been able to take him to Katniss’s real funeral even if they had tried to.

Prim had asked to be assigned to his case as a medical trainee. Her request had aroused from incomprehension to hostility among her peers. Mrs. Everdeen had merely required for Peeta to be strapped to his bed, in case he had a violent episode in the direction of her youngest and now only daughter. But Gale had harshly asked her what the hell she was thinking.

“Don’t you know that he killed her?”

Prim slowly looked up from the dictionary of medical terms she was studying and calmly answered:

“He did not. It’s not him that came back from the Capitol, and you know it.”

Turning a page, she added:

“And when he does, and realize what happened, I don’t want him to be alone.”

______________________________________________________________

But, as she sat by Peeta’s side, Prim found herself doubting such thing would ever happen. 

Contrary to what could be expected, suppressing whom he thought was responsible for all his troubles had not eased the chaos that reigned in Peeta’s mind. If anything, it had made it worse. Prim guessed it was because he had not been aware of what he was doing, and he had no memory of it. Katniss, however corrupted and twisted she must appear to him, was still the only thing that was in his mind. It was therefore logic that he should keep expecting her to show up. As she didn’t, obviously, his confusion grew greater.

“Where is she?” he asked her. “Why won’t she come? You must stay away from her, Primrose. I know it’s hard to hear for you, but she’s evil.”

Prim usually let these kinds of statements go unanswered. Peeta would respond to her silence by staring intensely at the door.

“Evil, murderous, drenched in blood. She’s somewhere. She’s gonna come through that door. Where is she? She’s gonna come back to get me.”

And Prim couldn’t help noticing he sounded more hopeful than afraid.

______________________________________________________________

The war went on. Gale melted into some sort of murderous fog, as if all the blood in the world were not enough to make up for Katniss’s death. Mrs. Everdeen worked herself to exhaustion most of the time, as if all the lives she would save were not enough to make up for the one she hadn’t. Prim found herself pretty much alone. Or she would have been, if it weren’t for Rory Hawthorne’s steady and comforting presence. And Peeta’s.

His true self was slowly coming back to the surface. The homicidal maniac became an apparition rather than a constant presence. He was able to maintain a real conversation without falling back into his whisperings. As she was usually the first and last face he would see during the day, they talked a lot.

Of course, the first thing he did when returning to normal was ask about Katniss. In a coherent way, his eyes growing soft and hopeful. That’s how Prim knew the healing process had begun.

They asked her to lie.

“She’s dead, Peeta. She fought with the Rebels in Eight and she got hurt. But no one was able to see how bad it was in time.”

She hesitated before adding:

“So she died in your arms right after you were rescued from the Capitol.”

They took her out of the room as Peeta grieved by collapsing into one of the worst episodes he would ever have.

______________________________________________________________

“How can we lie to him like that?” Prim hissed to Haymitch.

It was amazing how her scowling made her look like her sister, he mused.

“Well, that’s the official version, sweetheart.” The nickname felt like acid as it slipped off his tongue and he made the mental note to never use it again. 

“How about simply telling him the truth?” she asked, crossing her arms. “He deserves it.”

“Sure he does. But you can’t say it would do him any good right now. Or ever.”

He had a point.

“No, I guess it wouldn’t,” she said softly.

______________________________________________________________

They watched the pathetic mass of children gathered in front of Snow’s mansion literally burst into flames. Somehow, the whole thing was being recorded and sent to their screens in Thirteen.

“Gale and Beetee sure know what they’re doing,” Peeta merely commented.

“How awful,” Prim whispered. “I wished I was there. I could have helped. I’m useless here.”

Peeta was glad she wasn’t, however. She would never have made it out alive.

______________________________________________________________

The day of Snow’s execution, Gale came to see him. 

They sat side by side, and for a long time, neither of them said anything. Finally, Gale spoke:

“It would have been you. It’s been you all along.”

“You don’t know that.” Peeta didn’t need to ask what he was talking about.

“I do. I have no idea why it seems so obvious now. Maybe because she’s gone, I can see… you and her… it would have ended up that way eventually.”

“Does it really matter now?” Peeta asked in a strained voice.

“I’m just glad I got my answer, even though I will never hear it from her.”

Gale looked like life had been drained out of him, and Peeta had nothing to say to him. That happened a lot lately.

______________________________________________________________

Coin made them vote for another edition of the Hunger Games. The remaining Victors gathered in a room and had to say whether or not they liked the idea of killing more children. Peeta tried to wrap his mind around the fact that, after having won the War, after having defeated the Capitol, the Games still lingered around. It would have been hard to even if his mind had still been intact.

This was not what Katniss had died for. Even if the circumstances of it were still blurry (he tried so hard to remember).

The majority had voted against it (Annie, Beetee, Haymitch and himself), so those Games wouldn’t take place. But Peeta had caught on Coin’s face a look of sheer displeasure at the rejection of her brilliant idea. He wondered what else she’d come up with now that she had the entire country in her hands. 

He tried to focus. He had to do something.

Which was how he found himself rising from his seat. He found himself addressing the entire population who had come to watch Snow’s execution. He sensed the old Peeta rise in him. That guy didn’t have any trouble making speeches and manipulating words. He would know how to do this, so the current Peeta let him, feeling it would be the last time he would ever show up.

Loud and clear, Peeta wondered if Alma Coin’s position as the new president of Panem was entirely legitimate. Who had decided to put her there? He certainly hadn’t. It wasn’t that she would not make a good leader, because, really, the way Thirteen had been able to survive all these years plainly proved that she was. But what if someone were even more suited for this role? What if Panem deprived itself of a great leader because no one had taken time to decide who they wanted that person to be? Wasn’t this whole democracy thing about people making choices for themselves?

“I think about Katniss every day,” he went on, “and I know she didn’t fight for you to fall back into apathy once the War is over. It’s not enough that we destroyed. We have to built back now.”

Coin should have remembered she wasn’t the only one capable of manipulation. And besides, Peeta hadn’t lied on that last point. Katniss would definitely have done something to stop Coin. Only he had the feeling she’d have come up with something a lot more radical.

______________________________________________________________

Days and months and years pass before the day Prim foreshadowed comes.

Peeta wanders about the Meadow. Haymitch sits somewhere behind him and drinks, as he often does. They have fallen into the wordless understanding that has developed between them over years of silence. Neither of them wants to acknowledge the fact that there should be someone else by their side. Someone else whose absence is so striking it becomes almost physically tangible. Though they don’t talk about it, they’re always thinking of it. 

It suddenly occurs to Peeta that he is walking on his father’s grave. And mother’s. And brothers’. And something about this morbid realization brings another one into his mind.

Peeta doesn’t know what could have been. How could he?

He has no way of knowing that, on this very day, had things turned out differently, he could be watching his children run around, the girl dancing among the dandelions and the boy trying to keep up with her.

He has no way of knowing that, had someone been with them when they saw each other for the last time, that time wouldn’t have been the last, and Katniss Everdeen would be standing at his side right now.

He has no way of knowing they’d both be broken beyond repair, but would manage to be happy somehow, and their children would grow up in a world very similar to the one she’d once sang about to a dying girl. If only someone had been there in time to tear his hand off her neck.

He has no way of knowing any of this, and I think we can safely assume it’s better that way.

However, there is something else he does know.

Slowly, he turns to Haymitch.

“It was me, wasn’t it? I did it.”

Haymitch doesn’t say anything, though Peeta can tell he knows very well what he’s talking about. His voice grows cold.

“I killed Katniss Everdeen, real or not real?”


End file.
